Dismal and the odds have me
Wondering
What could be true
Of all my loves
Like loaves of bread
In a bakery shop
And I could find a use for all of them
As is
A taste
A magnificent accompaniment
A meal
And I call them knobs
Only to know my ex
Resembles a baker still
And I a Siberian missing snow
And out of wedlock and divorce
What else could be true
That all I hang around in emphithets of ether and thought and theory
In magnificent poetry and prose –
I have qualified to game to speak with the many of all my hearts and eras and all I know is
I love you.
It could be in many ways but you’re still here in my mind and I think of them everyday as true.
Yet I make the playlist undercover just to remember how sly someone has to be to rotate love like a cuckoo clock between singledom like I do.
Asked my mom do you think I’ll get married before 30 and her answer is still
Sometimes next year.
And the spam check on what’s in the mail today
And someone wrote me down that I’m engaged
And invited to a bridal expo.
I know his ways.
I love his war.
I’m having fun with it.